


Of Laurels and Flame

by Courtanie



Category: South Park
Genre: 1880s, Abduction, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Asylum, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, But Not Period-Typical Racism, F/M, Horror, Immortality, Imprisonment, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Much better sounding than 'ripping off half the plot points', Period-Typical Homophobia, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Secret Relationship, Supernatural Elements, Violence, We're gonna call this a Dracula homage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-08-19 12:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16534583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Courtanie/pseuds/Courtanie
Summary: From the abyss of shadow there lives a creature of many names but a singular purpose. When a desperate solicitor with a secret of his own comes face-to-face with it, he never expected to find himself amid a macabre ordeal reminiscent of the ghost stories of his youth. He also never expected to have the nightmare become so adamant in pursuing those he left back home.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> As the tags say, this takes a good bit from Dracula, but it'll diverge quite a bit as the story plods along. Also, this isn't in any actual country due to my laziness (and by that I mean utter stress) with researching Europe in the 1880s, so we're just takin' a made-up place and applying general historical knowledge so I don't spend eight hours reading papers on the Austrian-Hungarian empire for a single detail. Again.
> 
> It's gonna be bloody and fun though, I promise.
> 
> Enjoy~

_Thursday, the 2_ _nd_ _of April, 1885_

In the waning daylight hours of a cold spring day, a fog began to spill from the height of the mountains. Trickling down through thickets of evergreens and seeping through the slim cracks left in precarious piles of stone, it found its way through the maze of nature onto the man-made structures at the foothold of a towering cliff. 

Sweeping its way through tilled dirt paths and between the feet of villagers approaching the end of their days, it caught little attention. A common occurrence to find themselves in a slight swell of mist in the damp days following a storm, though an unseasonable warmth made it worth conversation among townspeople. Said storm had occurred only two nights prior, and the sweet smell of slick grass and freshly-made mud still ran rampant in their village. Gray clouds still clung overhead, remaining uninfluenced by the sun's journey creeping behind the mountains. With the air so heavy and each breath laden with extraneous effort to bring in and out, the villagers found themselves all the wearier as more wisped strands entangled into braids of disorientation. 

As the hours began to pass and the church bells had rung their final time for the night, as most had hurriedly poured back into their homes before dark overtook the village, the fog took their stead. What had been but a thin, milky ebbing tide along the dirt and through the gravel and sparse blades of grass turned thick. Like porridge it overtook the village, rising to nearly halfway up a homestead and obscuring the vision of those who still walked the paths. Amber glints from window-side candles caught each divot of the fog, fading into the ghastly light spilling down from the moon trying so desperately to shine through those hovering gray clouds. 

Footsteps echoed around the houses from a heavy faded leather boot and a purposed stride, a light, stilted hesitation on the right step from a tightly secured truncheon and pistol. A routine walk from Rèmorda Stoley, whose hair stood in high alert against that of the fog. The nights like these were ones to be the most attentive, he'd been told by others. 

A small village like Enrilth required little attention from the police, only one officer sent per night to make the rounds and leisurely stroll about looking for the all-too-rare troublesome occurrence. There were typically sounds to be heard: Late night strollers and the flow of the spanning river pressing through the mountains to echo into their valley. On nights like these, however, it seemed to be the barren valley of Siddim, awaiting a brutal invasion while God tried to hide His sinning creation from His own view. 

In a village of a mere two hundred timid, God-fearing people, even this night seemed unnervingly still. 

Rèmorda Stoley, just past the cusp of thirty and clinging to his officer post as his only reason for remaining in Enrilth, rued the notion of undertaking a night such as this. He hadn't patrolled during such acts of nature, had had only desk duty and heard the tales passed down from senior officers before him of their own eerie happenings. 

Rèmorda Patterson had come in the next dawn of his own fogged adventures a few years back, swearing up and down at a horse that had escaped its stable and approached him from out of the misted shadows, frightening him enough for a loud yell to have echoed around each and every house. His was one of the easier stories to process, one of the ones that every other officer in their small group prayed for on their own routes. 

Patterson's mundane tale, however, was not as common the odd occurrence as their patrol hoped for. Others came forward with reports of wails they couldn't pinpoint a location for despite searching for nearly the entirety of their shifts, shadows that clung and never seemed willing to seep off back onto the streets. There were reports of missing family members that had been all but brushed off after months of searching, the assumption made that they'd wandered off into the mountains in the middle of the night and out of their scope. 

More than a handful had repeated the tales told so long by the elders of their village of _Marchosias,_ the furred beast that seemed to slip along the sides of houses with broken wings like oil. Stealthily it would stalk the streets, just waiting for an unfortunate passerby before taking them by surprise. It would appear as though plucked from the night sky itself, they would claim, leaving a trail of musty darkness that both repelled with a drastic chill and suffocating strength, yet drew in with an intoxicating aroma of crushed and fermented kadarka grapes. 

Stoley smelled no wine in the air, only rain-saturated tobacco plants from the farmland over the hill of Laida. He'd heard the tale of Marchosias and other frightful creatures since he was a child, fell asleep to his own parents recounting their own fateful encounters with the myriad of demons so many claimed to plague their tiny village. Outsiders who passed through their village, however, held tales of their own lands of similar beasts. Stoley could only assume that either people were full of it, just loved the grandeur and the attention that came from weaving wild tales, or every single place on Earth was wrought with demonic presences. 

He was far more focused on the duty he'd been carrying out for the last six years, only getting the solemn nod of the officer whose shift he took over that told him of a quiet night ahead. Throat parched, and hand poised vigilantly alongside his truncheon, he began the fourth cycle of his regular route, making a full round of the church with the chipping bricks and saturated with the scent of the oils of catechumens and chrism leaking through the crack of the western window. 

He found himself indulging in a small, fond smile. The day had not been tainted by the dreary mugginess of the air, despite being so crowded within evening mass before his shift and nestled nearly atop the laps of his neighbors just as enthralled in the holiness of the day as he was. No, within the walls of their simple congregation, breath never seemed to flow so clearly. It was easy enough to forget the world so stained waiting for them while being touched with the tale of Jesus' humility. 

What he wouldn't have given to be back in that oblivious state once more instead of alone, tromping down the barren streets. 

Deep brown eyes flittered between houses, seeing the barest outlines of furniture between candlelight and the damnable fog impeding his vision. He knew well enough that the bodies within those houses were stuffed with heavy stews and goblets full of wine, prepared for the day of fasting before them all. His lips twisted in the slightest, hoping his own dinner hours prior would be enough to sate him when daylight found its way back over the mountaintops. It didn't matter, he supposed. His day would begin back in bed and he would awake in the early evening to find his way back to mass and truly start his repentance. 

He made way to step across the dirt road between the church and a row of houses, hearing an echoing clatter of stone and coming to a stop. His head whipped in the direction of the sound across the way towards the vacant gunsmith's. Stoley squinted through the heavy mist, turning on his heel and heading down the way. His teeth lightly clacked, keeping his head turning to look for signs of youths sneaking out of their homes to fool around in an overgrown field or a drunken fool attempting to meander his way home. Seemed to be the status quo for his routine, though he didn't hear the telltale giggles of teenagers or the frustrated slurs of a man too many ales in to tell his house from a barn. 

He found himself before the gunsmith's, scanning the ground for the guilty rocks that caught his attention. The toe of his boot lightly prodded at a beige Porphyry, finding it embedded in the dirt and hardly budging at his insistence. He hummed, fingers tightening along his truncheon in light pulses as he moved to head West and search further. 

A light drizzle began anew, a shudder rolling down his spine as he looked up through the fog lingering overhead to the blackened sky just barely outlined with the silver bellies of mourning clouds. A drop of rain found itself tearing through his left eyelash, trickling through the fine hairs to kiss his iris. He grunted, raising a gloved hand to rub at the assault and dropping his attention back down to continue his search for the rogue pebbles. 

Plenty of rocks lined his way, but a lack of a breeze made it hard to understand how any had found their way to tumble on their own accord. He came to another pause, face tightening in a concentrated grimace as he listened through the sound of light raindrops dappling the dirt for any other outlying noise. 

Another clatter from far behind him whirled him around, pace immediately quickening as he moved East, eyes darting. The drizzle began to produce thick droplets that crashed atop his head, snaking down through his hair to touch his skull and ride the curve down the back of his neck under his woolen uniform. A gulp found its way down his throat, bumps prickling along his arms as he stepped through a sudden coldness, and the sudden aroma of hefty wine. 

His eye was drawn back across the road, finding himself in line with the door of the church and bristling uneasily. With a slow step, he moved out of the parallel, his disquiet heightening as he found himself back in the muggy warmth he'd been combatting throughout the night and the returning smell of rain-splashed tobacco. 

Light fingers came to brush drenched bangs plastered on his forehead into a graceless swoop, shoulders stiffening as he forced his feet to continue pressing onwards. Foreboding hesitation racked his body, unsure of just what it was he was searching for. His knuckles were stark white along the handle of his baton, a thin lip being ground down by clenching teeth. Finally, his fingers unwound, hand sliding back along his belt steadily to instead grab the grip of his pistol in the same poised strain. 

Stoley couldn't remember the last time he'd so much as held his pistol on his patrols, typically only using it for warning shots on the few-and-far-between violent skirmishes that would erupt between warring farmers. Something about this night as he trudged through the fog towards the glowing lantern of the end of the road, however, seemed to want him to utilize any advantage he could muster. 

Perhaps it was merely in his head, he tried to convince himself as he walked. Too many stories from too many senior officers poisoning his reasoning. Surely they weren't immune to the gratification of storytelling and the attention received from spinning tales of adventure in their humdrum village. So maybe that's all it was, imagination getting lost in the thrall of the mist. 

" _Jennifer! Come back!"_ a deep voice screamed, cracking with the telltale timbre of being torn from sleep. 

Stoley spun around, immediately sprinting towards the source of the sound, the clatter of his boots slamming against the dirt echoing between the array of buildings surrounding him. It had come from the second street back, towards the river that wound its way through the mountains. His ears perked at another distinct, high-pitched sound: A child crying, the vocalization piercing enough to not be hindered by the rain beginning to come down heavier. 

His pace picked up, heart wrenching with dread and confusion at just what he was running towards. He nearly flinched as a woman's panicked shriek rang through the night, followed by the sound of wooden doors slamming and yells of concern. Stoley growled, urging his body to move faster, to make damn sure he wasn't going to find himself with the village in a frenzy on his watch. A chorus of shouts wormed their way around the buildings, each laced with some form of terror Stoley had never heard from his neighbors before. 

" _Get her inside, inside!"_ that deep voice bellowed yet again amid the yelling and the rain. 

After what seemed to be the furthest stretch of his village that Stoley had ever had to cross, he came to the backs of a small crowd of five men, eyes narrowing as he pushed forward and shoved them aside to slither his way to the forefront. 

His breath caught, finding himself locked in glowing eyes the hue of redcurrants, nestled among tufts of soaked, dark fur barely outlined by mist seeping over its form. Stoley squinted, heart pounding. No, not over. _Through_. 

His hand immediately pulled his pistol from its holster, ignoring the panicked declarations of the townspeople around him as he pointed the barrel towards the beast. A simple snuff left a sharp muzzle before the red eyes picked up a heavier glow, reflecting eerily on wisps of vapor between itself and the men. The group doubled back as the creature slid out of existence, not a single step taken by the beast as it dissipated before their eyes into nothingness smoothly as oil. 

"What the _hell_ is going on?" Stoley demanded, looking at the men surrounding him for explanation. He glanced towards a wide-eyed woman illuminated in a candlelit window, a wailing baby clutched tightly to her breast as she watched the scene before her. 

"Jennifer just woke up and went outside, wouldn't say anything!" Alec Simmons snapped, riled and a stocky frame shaking with adrenaline as he looked between the officer and his petrified wife observing them. "Took the baby and just walked out! Right to that… _thing_." 

Stoley nodded, gnawing on his tongue and unable to quite comprehend what he'd found himself in the middle of. "All of you," he addressed the group. "Get back to your homes, I'll handle this-" He stopped short, eyes widening and breath stuttering as the weakened, trailing shadows of the men parading against the dense fog began to morph, mottled moonlight picking up the glistening curve of individual strands of fur as the creature emerged from emptiness behind the thrall. Pieces of shadow clung to its back like tree limbs, its shape mangled and twisted as it spawned from a half-dozen directions. 

It lunged towards the cluster, breaking off from the hold it'd crawled out of, each branch of shade peeling off fluidly like skin. Its dark, wide jaws opened and snapped shut around the throat of a boy of not sixteen, a short, panicked scream cut off with a gurgling gasp as he fell with the force of fangs sinking effortlessly through his skin. The beast was unhindered by his weight, easily pressing through the crowd and knocking the remaining men off their feet as it sprinted, dragging the boy's limp form through the mud. 

Stoley hit the ground with a yell, immediately twisting up to his knees and aiming his pistol towards its retreating form. He squinted as it pivoted towards the river and its chest was in his sights, pulling the trigger and the lot of them recoiling with the thunderous sound filling the valley with a sharp crack. They watched, tensed at the lack of so much as a stumble from the creature. Stoley stood, lining himself up for another shot and his thumb pulled the hammer, trying to keep his arm steady with the creature's rapid pace in his hindered vision. He broke forward into a sprint, the remaining men hopping onto their feet and following to assist in pursuing the beast. 

They slid around the row of houses and headed towards the river on its trail, Stoley taking another three booming shots as they ran. His face fell in dismay at each one seeming to pass right through, briefly seeing his spent bullets buried in a thick trail of blood atop the mud as they desperately tried to catch up to its weightless dash. The brief hope that he was wounding the creature was short-lived, even in his panic reasoning that, considering the beast losing not a step in its stride, they were following the macabre breadcrumb trail of the boy being lifelessly dragged away. 

They slid to a horrified stop as it reached the outskirts of the paved paths, each toppling in the slickness of the dirt and mouths agape as the creature and its victim seemed to melt against the grass being pelted in the rainfall. Into several pieces they both spread, attaching to the shadow of individual blades and pressing forward, the landscape rippling like a gust of wind carrying through the meadow. 

Jaw trembling, Stoley got to his feet, his pistol still clutched tightly in his cramped fingers and standing silently amongst the panicked shouts of the men behind him debating still trying to track it down and see if they could save the boy. The chill left in the wake of the creature told Stoley otherwise, that they were far past the point of being able to help. 

The men seemed to reach the same conclusion and simmered into nothing more but horrified expressions and silence as they watched, nauseous with the lingering, smothering aroma of grapes as the rustle of the grass disappeared downriver towards the inlet of the mountains and silently crept into the depths of the fog. 


	2. Chapter 2

_Friday, the 3_ _rd_ _of April_

It'd been nearly three and a half weeks since he'd trudged through the hallway stretching before him. The dingy color of plaster stained a lemon curd yellow from decades worth of wafting tobacco lined his way towards a waiting oaken door. It's daunting, he thought, having received nothing more than a vague letter to come back to the office when the soonest opportunity arose. 

Kenny's hands shook as he gripped the front of his jacket, fingers delving into the worn, flannel material and bitten nails catching uneasily on the fibers. The ambiguity has haunted him since opening said letter to the sloppy, hurried handwriting so indicative of his boss, trailing behind him as he walked the streets of Dellwyn like a storm cloud begging to give way. 

He hadn't had an assignment in nearly a month, having run out of paperwork and their firm finding itself trailing behind that of the competition scattered about the city. A lack of work meant a lack of money, and that meant a lack of options barreling towards him at alarming speed. Rent was near-due, his kitchen running out of provisions, down to the last logs to toss into the stove to help stave through the nights still so cold with the final desperate grasps of winter. And now, he didn't know if he was walking straight into a lay-off, a half-assed apology on his boss' behalf for it "seeming unreasonable to keep him on the staff if they couldn't afford to use him". 

He gulped, feeling the curious, twitching eye of the secretary he left behind him as he lingered in such uncertainty. Forcing himself to press forward, he found himself awash in the subdued amber glow of tarnished silver sconces lighting the path. He can't lose this job, he _can't_. And he can't lose his house, shoddy as it may be. Shoes far past the point of worn landed heavily on the creaking floorboards, a squeaking countdown towards the unknown that made his heart pound. 

Blue eyes scrunched shut in a quick prayer, face twisting in anxiety as he came to a stop at the last door of the hall and forced himself through a rapid three knocks. 

" _Yeah?"_

He gulped, "It's Ken!" 

" _Come in_ ," he said, Kenny straining to hear echoes of some sort of sympathy in his tone but finding none. He wasn't certain if that was relieving in any sense or if his boss was just some kind of apathetic monster who delighted in ruining his workers' lives. 

He pushed his way into the room, finding a stocky man with a billowing cigarette clenched in his teeth holding a bundle of papers between his hands, eyes flowing over the lines as he waved for Kenny to enter. He did so with caution, shoulders taut with apprehension and throat quivering in his nausea as he took a seat across the desk. 

His boss had never _seemed_ the type to want to destroy his livelihood, had hired Kenny despite him only holding a mere salesman apprenticeship under his belt. His job title was a mere formality as a solicitor, he'd found himself practicing the far-more appropriate role of a gussied-up witness to legal documentation with only the occasional need to make a hard-sell for real estate on behalf of his employer. It was an agitating lifestyle, constantly shuffling papers to try in vain to keep them in proper order, dealing with men who held more money at one time than he'd seen throughout the entirety of his life. But it paid the bills. 

God, he _hoped_ it still paid his bills. 

His boss looked up at him, Kenny reading the signs of frustration in a crinkled bushy brow and the cigarette beginning to smolder from neglect. His stomach curled, trying to force a polite, if not a bit of a _begging_ smile onto his lips. 

The man sighed, dropping the papers from his hands and rubbing at his scalp through thinning brunette hair. Kenny could catch the glints of silver locks greedily harboring the glow of the candles surrounding them, trying to restore some smidgeon of youthful essence. He supposed it was fitting, every ounce of their identities boiled down to mere _façade_. Upselling, making outlandish promises about their merchandise and praying the buyers never caught on, pretending to hold enthusiasm for something so droll as apartment tours and lease agreements. 

"Got an assignment for you," the man _finally_ said, and all the weight dredging down Kenny's entire being melted, slipping off his weary shoulders and landing in sludgy, folded piles on the sides of his chair. 

"Really?" he said, voice squeaking with regained energy and the wariness that always came with so high a promise. 

The man nodded and pushed out of his chair, both wincing at the sound of the wooden legs scraping against the splintering oaken floor. "Yeah, had given it to Cartman a few weeks ago, but he never reported back," he grumbled. 

The air of suspicion reached a new height, Kenny's brow slowly raising. "Didn't report back?" he repeated. He knew Eric Cartman better than most, knew that successfully completing a transaction and gaining his commission was something he thrived on, if not for the profit itself, but the ability to rub it in the faces of his more destitute coworkers. 

"Yeah, no fucking idea where he is," his boss scoffed, digging his way through a stack of documents piled on a shelf on his far-side wall. "I know for damn sure he got on the train, but other than that, no clue." 

"Train?" 

He nodded, finally finding the documentation needed and pulling it from the resting stack. "It's in Caerleon." 

Kenny narrowed his eyes, "What property do we have in _Caerleon_?" 

"None, but we have a client in one of the towns," he explained, sitting back down in his chair and flopping the stack of parchment down in front of him. Kenny gathered the pile into his hands as he continued, "Wants to fill out the paperwork _there_ before he moves." 

Kenny scanned over the words before him, growing more confused by the moment. They never traveled more than perhaps a few hundred miles outside of the city for a client. Too costly and inefficient, he'd been told. So, going nearly _1500_ miles seemed a bit out of their jurisdiction. "Any… particular reason _why_ we need to make the trip?" Kenny ventured, unsure of whether he would be pressing on too heavy a nerve with any line of questioning. 

He shrugged, not seeming affected by such a query, "I'm not entirely sure; he insisted. Seems just… eccentric and sheltered I suppose. Besides, he's buying two properties. _Upfront_. So we're giving him a… _deluxe_ treatment we wouldn't give many others. He just needs someone there to sell him the _right_ properties and fill out the paperwork." 

"Two?" Kenny said, breathless at the mere notion. If that was the case, his commission would be _immense_. If this guy had enough to buy two properties, Ken doubted he was looking for a shabby flat, he was looking for an honest-to-God _house_. He bit his lip, looking back at the paperwork with the name _Damien Thorn_ penned into the pre-scripted line of their routine contract. "What does this guy do that he can afford two places?" 

His boss shrugged, grabbing his abandoned cigarette and striking a match to relight it back into a humming vibrant orange. "Don't know, don't particularly care so long as we get him to buy. I have ten of our houses listed and ready to be explained to him," he gestured to the papers. "If he can be convinced to buy two of the nicer ones, he can pull us into black." He leaned forward with his hands folded onto each other, Kenny feeling small under his intense stare. "I don't want another situation like Mr. Cartman left us in. So. Can I trust _you_ to do what needs done, McCormick?" 

Kenny nodded vigorously, "Yeah. Yeah, I can. When uh… w-when would I have to leave?" 

"Three days," he sighed, cracking his neck and blowing out a stream of smoke. "I'll have Tweek draw you up a schedule. It'll take a bit over a week and a half to get there at all, he lives somewhere in the mountains where the train doesn't go." 

His shoulders dropped, "So I'll be gone almost a month?" 

A short nod, "Thereabouts. Worth the trip if he buys, McCormick. It's either that or not have a job when we go under," he cocked his brow. "Not like you have anything too exciting goin' on anyway, some time in the mountains away from this damn sea air is good for you." 

Kenny forced a small, weak smile on his face and nodded along to his unsolicited advice, gaze dropping back down to the papers in his hands and heaving a somber sigh. A month was _such_ a long time… His lips twisted. He needed the money. _Desperately_. He leaned back in his chair, raising a hand to scratch through oily blond hair. He didn't know how he felt, hating the idea of being pulled away from home for so long, but goddamn knowing well enough it was either this or homelessness. Kenny closed his eyes, his boss shouting for Tweek to scurry in from his front desk and begin making the arrangements necessary for Kenny's trip. 

He just hoped _somebody else_ would be okay with such an impromptu arrangement. 

* * *

Shorthand was designed for a specific purpose: To hurriedly take notes as words were spoken in real-time so the transcriber could easily rewrite full scripts to be filed away for recording. The concept was devised with the full intention of making a multitude of lives easier, to optimize the efficiency of businesses and keep the steady roll of progression chugging along. 

So why Kyle didn't make it easier on himself and have better handwriting when scrawling away in his thin lines, he couldn't be sure. 

He'd taken the time to develop his own system, had his personalized phonetic alphabet down to a precise science of squiggles and hyphens. But all the years he'd spent developing such an intricate system always seemed to flee him when locked in a prolonged courtroom sitting, starting off legible and strong but the hours of progression evident from the way the lines began to wearily skew and loop in incoherent ways. 

He grumbled, looking between his shorthand notes and what he'd already transcribed, trying to pick apart a sloppily-made symbol with the context of the words surrounding it. The tip of his fountain pen tapped impatiently against his notes, minute ink splatters splaying onto the paper. He should've known better, honestly. He damn well _knew_ his transcriptions were on a backlog as it was, the firm pulling in more clients than they could keep up with and handing Kyle every goddamn meeting and recording that they had to keep things in check. Kyle sighed, breaking his gaze off the mystery symbol and onto the lantern resting atop his desk. Even if they stopped dead in their tracks, it'd probably _still_ take him three months or more to work his way through every file. 

But it was important, his boss had reminded him upon handing him another three from the past week to handle. And his pace was _fine_ considering the workload, it was just going to be stressful. Kyle huffed out a short breath through his nose. That was a mighty understatement, his dreams filled with phonograph-quality sound and walls papered with unfinished translations. He was no fool, knew that he was far from the only worker in the firm to have to bring work home with him, but he also knew he was the most underpaid, and it made the stress all the weightier. 

His gaze slipped up from the dancing candlelight to how it splayed across the heavy, drawn curtains of the living room. It rolled through vermillion moreen like the tide, a simple band of design against the otherwise plain fabric. He put his notes aside onto his desk and leaned his cheek into his palm, sighing. He'd love to open those damn curtains now and then, or at least invest in something more _lively_. Drab drapery just made the squalor all the more obvious, his meticulous cleaning sessions only doing so much to bring life into the poorly-lit abode. Drenched in musty air from poor ventilation and clustered within nothing but hues of plain reds and browns, it was enough to drive any man to the brink. But he couldn't exactly skip off to the draper and bring home armfuls of vibrant damask to combat the claustrophobic environment. 

Kyle leaned back again, falling all but boneless in his chair. He knew he had resources to assist, knew that Bebe would probably throw him more décor than he could ever figure out what to do with. But no, he reminded himself, eyes closing. Decorum brought attention from outsiders, brought the notion that this shabby home was more than just a temporary living space. 

The sound of a key jiggling its way into the front lock brought him from his dreary exhaustion, sitting up straight in his chair and head snapping back as sunlight spilled into the room across the carpeting. He stood as a tall figure stepped inside, hurriedly shutting and relocking the door behind them, encasing them in nothing more than candlelight all over again. Kyle shuddered at the loss; it was always far too soon to lose the sun, but it was more than necessary. 

He stepped from around his chair, looking at the man before him with a degree of caution. "Ken?" he winced, unable to read the expression on his face. It was so unusual, Kenny's face usually plainer for him to read than his own damn handwriting, but this time he seemed almost lost, caught in a marred mess of… well, Kyle couldn't tell exactly _what_. 

Kenny took a deep breath as Kyle approached, eyes flickering around the room and to the door, another final check of the covered windows and their assured privacy before long legs picked up the pace to close the distance between them. He cupped his hands under Kyle's chin, leaning down as Kyle's toes perched in their shoes and their lips met with a simultaneous, relieved sigh. The twitch of a smile broke through his stress as thin arms wound around his waist and a content hum rolled its way through Kyle's throat. He pulled back, separating with a small _smack_ and pressed his forehead atop Kyle's, heaving another sigh. "Hi," he finally said. 

"Hi. So? How'd it go?" Kyle pressed, the ambiguity of Kenny's tone sending him through a whirlwind of possibilities. 

Kenny pressed his lips to his forehead, moving them together towards the couch and pulling him to sit beside him. Kyle unwillingly uncoiled from his waist and pulled his arms back, stopped as Kenny gripped his hands tightly in his own. Kyle's face knitted together in concern, seeing the echo of confliction so prevalent in crystalline eyes. 

"They want me to travel for a deal," he finally said. 

Kyle perked up, a small smile crossing his lips, "So… your job is safe?" 

He shrugged sheepishly, "So long as I can seal this deal it is." 

"That's fantastic, Ken!" he leaned forward and stole a kiss, pulling back at the minimal return of enthusiasm and the worry finding its way back to his face. "So why do you look so upset?" he ventured softly. 

Kenny shied down guiltily, fingers stroking the hands he held and biting his lip. "It's a good ways away, Ky. I'd be gone a little under a month." 

Kyle's posture found itself immediately mirroring Kenny's, even just the _idea_ of such a lengthy separation slathering depression over him like honey, trying to weigh him down into a pathetic pile on the floor. A million queries ran through his head at once, questioning the logistics of such a trip and the financial weight, the practicality of foregoing written correspondence in lieu of sending someone, sending a _low-ranking_ solicitor of all things. 

Kyle was beyond proud of Kenny, of every part of his job, knew better than anyone that he could do it well, but that didn't mean anything to Kenny's firm as he found himself typically last on the list of those in his field for the chance of a contract. But for him to be offered a contract that would keep him from home for so long… It had to be important. "Why so long?" he finally spoke. 

He sighed, releasing Kyle's hands and running his hands up through his hair, falling back into the worn cushions behind them. "It's in some small village in Caerleon." 

"Caerleon?" he repeated, eyes narrowing. "Who the hell wants to move from Caerleon to Alston? Let alone to _Dellwyn_ of all places?" 

Kenny shrugged listlessly, "Someone who wants to live by the sea, I guess. It's some rich guy… Maybe he wants to start iunno… _exporting_ or something." 

Kyle watched the preemptive exhaustion racking through him and took a deep breath, putting his hand lovingly on his thigh. "Do you want some coffee, Ken? You look beat." 

"Please," he gave him a meek smile and Kyle nodded, immediately getting to his feet and making way towards their cramped kitchen and the pot he already had set aside for a long night ahead of tearing through his meeting minutes. Kenny watched after him as he disappeared behind the wall, biting his cheek. "Apparently I was second choice, as always," he called out sadly. 

"Whaddya mean?" 

He rolled his eyes to himself. "Cartman apparently went a few weeks ago but didn't report back." 

"Good. Maybe he died," Kyle scoffed, Kenny finally letting out a tiny bout of laughter. Kyle made no secret of his detestation of his coworker. One brief encounter when Kyle had dropped off paperwork Kenny had left behind at home had somehow escalated into a full-on screaming match between the two before Kenny could emerge from his shared office. It'd all but traumatized their secretary, Tweek scampering off to hide in the back hall and not reappearing until Kyle was long gone and supposedly out of auditory range. But, Kyle's hatred was not without its merit, Kenny wasn't particularly fond of Cartman's continued existence either. Just that _one_ meeting was enough for Cartman to _always_ bring up Kenny's "housemate" whenever the opportunity arose, usually amongst a sea of sneers and snubs for Kenny associating with such a "low-class ginger-haired Jewish piece of trash". 

How Kenny hadn't knocked his teeth in, he hadn't the slightest idea. He figured it was only to keep his damn employment, but damn if it didn't take every ounce of his strength. 

He glanced over as Kyle emerged with two steaming porcelain mugs, making his way to sit back down beside of him and hand him the billowing cup of coffee. Kyle took his own sip and sighed, looking at Kenny sympathetically. "That fatass always gets the jobs you should get." 

"Tell me about it," he muttered. "That's what happens when your mom sleeps with the boss, though," he rolled his eyes through a scoff. He looked over at Kyle and shot him a small, teasing smile. "No chance you'd be willing to sleep with my boss, is there? I'd do it myself, but I don't think I'm his type." 

Kyle snorted, "You'd have to be getting a _hell_ of a raise and a contract that guarantees you'd inherit the company. Besides, I doubt _I'm_ his type either." 

"You should be _everyone's_ type," he cooed, reaching up and putting his palm on Kyle's cheek, stroking his thumb along his ear and temple. "But then again, I'd have t' fight everyone for ya, and that wouldn't be fun for me." 

He smirked, shaking his head lightly. "You'd win," he promised, rolling his eyes amusedly at Kenny giving him a pronounced wink. He turned his head, kissing the palm of his hand. "So, he just never got back to anyone?" 

Kenny's smile dropped, and he shook his head. "No, not a word. Honestly? You might be right, he may just be fucking dead. I've never known that piece of shit to miss a chance for money." 

"Hm," he nodded slowly, a small glimmer striking through meadow-green eyes. "Well… good," he repeated. "If he's gone, then _you_ get all the good clients. Like it should've been from the very beginning." 

He chuckled, "You're biased." 

"Yes, but I'm also not stupid," he scoffed, bumping his head into the hand still playing along his face. "You work so much harder than that sack of horseshit. You _deserve_ to have bigger and better opportunities." 

Kenny looked at him, reading between the lines easily enough and gulping. "So… you're okay with me being gone for that long?" he asked timidly. "That's such a long time away from you. And there's not even any guarantee this guy will take a house…" He sank, not willing to deal with such intense isolation for a mere _chance_ at something good happening for once. 

Kyle sighed, reaching up and taking his fondling hand in his own, linking their fingers and dropping them down into his lap. "Am I happy you'll be gone so long? No. Sure, it'll be lonely… But you shouldn't let me get in the way of you having some success," he winced. Kenny's face still rang with guilt and he pouted. "Kenny, do you like your job?" 

He glanced at him, awkwardly shrugging as he took a long sip of his bitter brew. "I like when I make money for us." 

"That's not what I asked." 

Kenny sighed, shifting back further into the cushions and staring into the darkness of his mug. "I don't hate it, I guess… I don't want to _lose it_ or anything…" 

"Then take this job for what it is: An opportunity," Kyle urged, scooting closer to sit pressed against him. "Besides, if whoever this guy is is calling for someone to see in person, I'm sure he already knows he's going to buy property. He just… wants a face to put the deed to," he shrugged. 

Ken glanced at him and gave a small smile, "You think?" 

"Mhm," he nodded, taking another sip of his coffee and putting it aside on the table in front of them. He leaned up, pressing his lips to Kenny's temple and feeling him melting against the gesture, smiling lightly against his skin. "This is a _good_ thing," he promised with another kiss. "It'll open a lot of new doors for you, I'm _sure_ of it." 

He turned his head, meeting his lips softly. "So long as you're okay with it." 

Kyle smirked, brushing Kenny's bangs out of his eyes. "Again, I'm not happy about it, but I'm not about to stand in the way of you pushing forward in your career." 

Ken shook his head, putting his mug down beside of Kyle's and shifting to sit facing him on the couch, his hands immediately finding themselves on his waist and cheek. "You're _never_ in my way," he swore, bringing him forward for a longer kiss. 

Kyle sighed contentedly, arms moving to loop around his neck, lost in the warm magnetism that Kenny had held over him for so damn long. He could feel the waves of relief flooding Kenny's weary form, smirking as legs moved around him and strong arms guided him forward to plant their bodies flush against one another. He pulled back a mere smidgeon, grinning at Kenny craning his neck forward to snag a few more nips at his bottom lip, fingers tracing up through red curls to grip around and force him back into place. He resisted just enough, an impatient grunt rumbling through Kenny's chest. 

"When would you be leaving?" he asked, his breath hot as it bounced between their faces. 

"Three days," Kenny murmured, pushing for another kiss, blue eyes becoming swathed in a heady lust that had Kyle aching already. 

He grinned, granting him his wish and pressing back forward, the hand on his waist tracing its way down to grab greedily at his ass and squeeze. He moaned, lashes fluttering as he was made to remain as Kenny wished, the fingers in his hair lightening only a bit to grant him a rewarding few pets against his scalp. His arms slid back to cup Kenny's face and pull them apart for just a moment, getting those eyes back on him and melting with the undivided attention. "Guess that's three days to work on tiding us over, huh?" he whispered. 

A wild grin overtook Kenny's face, the grip on Kyle's body tightening as he was forced to fall backwards, his stomach like a chaotic swarm of locusts as Kenny came between his legs and hovered overtop of him. Kyle grinned lazily, giving no more than a simple, teasing bump of his eyebrows before Kenny came rushing back down to reclaim his lips. 

The reds and browns surrounding them, the blocked-out sunlight, the utter isolation that they were forced into, it suddenly didn't seem so dull to Kyle. No, he realized as eager, deft fingers began to unbutton his shirt and loving lips plastered themselves to his collarbone. When they were so locked in one another, when the turmoil of life was shut out and the only things that mattered were one another, vibrancy seemed too _subtle_ a term for the influx of light that emitted from every fiber of their being. After all, he thought with a lovestruck, half-drunken smile, watching as Kenny leaned back with his golden hair caught in a flickering amber halo, with Kenny, _everything_ was glowing and alive. 

And he wouldn't change it for the world. 


End file.
